


sugar, spice, and everything nice

by nishikiyama



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Other Academy Students, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), dedue will only betray dimitri in culinary affairs Nothing Else, dimitri should never be in the kitchen or listen to sylvains flirting tips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 22:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20804282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishikiyama/pseuds/nishikiyama
Summary: And when he was met with a similar response of “no, there’s nothing wrong”, he went to Flayn. Then Marianne. Finally, Linhardt – who was far from interested in the trifles of the heart. It was an arduous task, to find a diagnosis for a bad case of infatuation that he had long since been trying to swallow into the pits of his being. He had no right to feel such a way about his liege. He had to be sure it was not just his over-devotion playing a card.Alternatively: Dimitri cannot cook a meal to save his life, and Dedue simply won't let his king be defamed from a bad case of bacon and eggs.





	sugar, spice, and everything nice

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 4 am after writing an essay but i always found it cute how dimitris palette consisted of cheese and nothing else
> 
> takes place after the mock battle at gronder field with the blue lions victory!

Of broken containers, snapped handles and congealed fats – the kitchen was no pretty sight to be seen.

Whilst the sting of oil against skin was surely pale in comparison to a slice from Edelgard’s blade, Dedue was growing almost jaded from their victory. Dimitri- no, his _highness_, was insistent on cooking in celebration for their win against the other two houses. Had the Blue Lions not given their all _(and placed perhaps one too many offerings to Seiros on the altar)_, Dimitri would not be hunched over the pan with his face a smidgen too close to bacon.

“Ah, Dedue – tell me, do you think it would be done by now?” A tone laced with curiousity and confusion broke the Duscurian from his musings. It was Dimitri, fingers gripping the hilt of a pan as if it were a baby’s finger. Delicate, a featherlike touch that would most likely still pose the risk of breaking the cast iron.

The prince did not know his own strength, nor did he know many recipes beyond the basics. His palette was limited – as were his tastebuds. A touch of salt, a flick of pepper, they were substantial seasoning in his eyes.

“…No. You have to let it crisp, Your Highness. It will be done shortly. Are you positive you do not need a hand in preparing the eggs?” Dedue thinned his lips, a concerned brow furrowing as he eyed the whisked eggs.

He was met with a laugh – his favourite sound. It made his chest tighten and constrict, with Manuela having to tell him many times that no, he is not entering cardiac arrest and to please stop coming in with such bizarre questions. Of course, he respected her request – he merely just opted to ask Mercedes instead.

And when he was met with a similar response of “no, there’s nothing wrong”, he went to Flayn. Then Marianne. Finally, Linhardt – who was far from interested in the trifles of the heart. It was an arduous task, to find a diagnosis for a bad case of infatuation that he had long since been trying to swallow into the pits of his being. He had no right to feel such a way about his liege. He had to be sure it was not just his over-devotion playing a card.

“Ah, no. Thank you, Dedue. However, I have decided to cook for everyone to thank them…” Dimitri jostled the pan once more, tensing his shoulders to ensure he did not send the utensil through the stovetop. “I wish for them to see me as a friend and an ally. To build our bonds closer, not to have them feel on edge about being by their future king.”

“I see. That is… understandable. Do you wish for me to go and tell them lunch is almost ready?” Dedue peered into the hallway. Whilst some were patient, such as Ashe who had no qualms in the rather lengthy wait time, it was clear those like Felix had since grown agitated. “We have been trying to make bacon and eggs for an hour or two now.”

“Ah, right. I’ll go and tell them now. Could you keep an eye on the bacon for me, Dedue? I’ll return shortly.” With that, Dimitri had released the pan and walked briskly into the dining hall. Met with smiles and questions as to what was taking him so long, it appeared the prince would be away longer than expected.

Dedue simply could not let Dimitri embarrass himself by creating a subpar meal – not when guests from other houses had opted to dine in as well.

And so he moved as quickly as a six foot man could in a tiny kitchen – careful so to not knock things over and alert Dimitri as to what he was doing. Grabbing all that he could in such ample time was almost as stressful as being shot point-blank by Claude within the battle… almost. Both had their downsides, but to be chastised by Dimitri would ache far worse than any scar to remain from a scuffle.

A splash of hot sauce, a pinch of curry powder and a dash of garlic. He erred on the edge of caution, adding lighter than what he usually would so to not discolour the mixture. However, by the sight of it, it seemed the eggs had been saved and Dimitri’s absence had allowed the bacon to near optimal-crispiness.

Just in time to add the eggs to the pan.

“Dedue? What are you doing?”

Ah. Busted.

Slowly turning himself around (and with a bowl of eggs clutched rather tightly to his chest to boot), Dimitri stood in the doorway with a puzzled expression. “I certainly hope you’re not working yourself when I have asked you to relax.”

Memories of a time long ago surfaced. Days of the blonde guiding his hand to form letters as his joints ached from gripping a quill a tad too tight, Dimitri sitting quietly by his side as Dedue would struggle to read what was simple literature. And so they progressed to reading cookbooks – the shortlived phrases and additional numbers was a far more effective method on learning linguistics.

With a shake of his head and a moment to recollect himself (he had found himself falling victim to the temptations of reminiscing far too often as of late), their eyes met.

“No, your highness. I fear that we are leaving the eggs too late, so I took the liberty of heating the pan. Forgive me.”

Dimitri clicked his tongue in frustration, striding over and taking ahold of the eggs as he poured the mixture into the pan. “Please, relax. I am fine with you observing, but I don’t want you to do anything. This is my treat to you.”

Dedue could feel the guilt grip at him – watching how Dimitri pushed the eggs around in the pan to scramble them. They smelled delightful, the aroma was a dead giveaway that the mixture was not simply eggs and milk. However, Dimitri paid no mind, only continuing with a focused look… and perhaps a trembling hand.

“Now, go and join the others. I… feel as if this may be done soon. Maybe?” Dimitri’s words came as a statement, but Dedue knew quite well it was a humble query without a blow to his pride. It was a nonverbal question – _will_ these be done soon?

“Yes. They will be done shortly.” And with that, Dedue left. Expression rigid as ever, but anxious as to how he had just betrayed the one man he vowed not to.

_ ******** _

“Enjoy, everyone! And a toast to a battle well-fought!”

Dimitri raised his glass in a toast, met with cheers and excited shouts from his comrades. Those who were not part of the Blue Lions were still kind enough to clap, the energy of the banquet vibrant and excited.

Dedue raised a fork to his lips hesitantly, taking a small bite of the eggs. Fluffy, creamy. An aftertaste of chili. Perfect.

Yet, he simply could not enjoy it after what he had done.

“Wow, Dimitri! This is great! I never knew you could cook like this!” Mercedes chimed, lifting a strip of bacon to her lips. “Maybe a breakfast food for lunch isn’t what I was expecting, but… I wouldn’t mind having this again.”

“Ah, well. Honestly, it was my first time properly making this. Rodrigue would cook me this on the weekends before training.” Dimitri chattered amongst his peers, sat beside Dedue. He had given himself quite a large portion – the prince did enjoy his food a fair bit. “You know, I’m quite impressed with this myself! What do you think, Dedue? Good enough?”

“…Mm,” Dedue responded with a curt nod, scraping the remnants of a meal well-cooked into his spoon. He ate as quickly as one could muster without creating a mess or arousing suspicion, the occasional scrape of metal against ceramic causing him to wince. “It was fantastic. Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Dedue, I told you not to c-” His words were cut short, ears pierced by the sputters and chokes of a familiar archer, sat at the table head as nails dug into plywood. “Ashe? Are you quite alright?”

“Ah, it’s just a touch spicy! It’s… it’s nothing, really. I have really weak tastebuds.” Ashe’s words came out strangled, pale skin tinted red and eyes watery. “I’m really sorry.”

“How odd… I don’t recall adding anything spicy to the mixture,” Dimitri frowned. He poked at the mounds of food he was eager to pile atop his plate, inspecting every increment of eggs and the like closely. “I’ll go get you some water. Hold tight.”

And so the prince was quick to depart – plate in hand and Dedue in tow.

_ ******** _

Dedue was initially reluctant to enter the kitchen – what, with Dimitri more than likely ripping it apart in search of whatever had caused such a reaction. A lion was protective of his pride, but the Duscurian knew too well Dimitri would not be satisfied with himself if he knew he unwillingly brought harm to a comrade.

He was often the first to complain that Dimitri was far too hard on himself. Snapping a sewing needle or breaking a training sword was often the prelude to a bombardment of apologies and promises to make up for whatever wrongdoing he had committed – one could never believe the darkness that lurked in his heart.

And so, Dedue swallowed his fears and pushed the kitchen door open. He could have sworn it was heavier than any axe or gauntlet he had held in his lifetime.

“Your Highness, forgive me,” Dedue instinctively clenched his fists, bowing his head with his eyes sealed as tight as one could muster. “I… added some additional spices to the mix.”

…

…

No response.

“Your… Highness?”

Met with the same lack of response, he felt his stomach churn. Was he being a touch dramatic? Surely, any other adversary would never go against their liege by any means necessary – no, Hubert would not tamper with Edelgard’s chef skills and Seteth would refrain from speaking against the archbishop.

Or so Dedue assumed. He was not exactly a people’s person – what the Black Eagles and Church did in the privacy of their own quarters mattered little to him.

“Dedue. Face me, please. Stand upright.”

Standing as straight as he could muster, the brawler slowly opened his eyes – the blur as his pupils adjusted to burning kitchen lights faded. He was met with the sight of Dimitri holding the bottle of chili, with an exasperated smile to boot.

He was not angry. He almost seemed… humoured by it.

“I knew what you did. Perhaps I stood at that door a little longer before I alerted you of my presence…” Dimitri sighed. “I couldn’t help it. It was endearing to see you try your hardest to save my cooking from myself.”

“Your Highness, I— “

“Hold, Dedue.” Dimitri placed the container adjacent to the stove, striding forward and taking ahold of his vassals’ hands. “I simply wish you would just take time for yourself. For this to be the one meal where you were not harassed into cooking for everyone.”

A lone thumb glided over scarred knuckles, the prince staring at hands larger than his own, absentmindedly tracing over every bump and nick. “But I now understand – cooking is something you enjoy doing. It would be wrong of me to take that from you, wouldn’t it?”

Silence.

Dedue stood – unsure. Was he allowed to speak? Was it best to stand where he was, watching Dimitri instinctively play with his fingers? Ashe was coughing quieter at least. One could decipher that either the spice had died down, or Mercedes took matters into her own hands.

“…That is correct.” Dedue sighed. “I did not want for the other houses to belittle your cooking behind our backs. It was not in my position to tamper with the recipe without asking, however.”

“Dedue, please.” Dimitri let a sly chuckle slip out from his lips, eyes tilting upwards to meet his friends. “My knowledge of cooking is restricted to cheese on a platter and whatever I am served at dinner time. I would be honoured for you to teach me.”

“Teach you? How to cook?” Familiar memories of Flayn almost setting the kitchen ablaze in a flurry of cooking oil and fire magic set heavy on his throat. “I do not think I am well-equipped to do the teaching. I have always been the one taught.”

“And if I were to repay you? Would that perhaps change your mind?” The prince lifted his hand closer to his face – warm skin against cold (ah, freezing Faerghus temperatures were seemingly not restricted only to the land but also its royals), his breath brushing ever so gently against Dedue’s fingers.

“I would never ask for repayment. I owe you my life, Your Highness.” Dedue remained as rigid as a statue – body tense, eyes focused. Were he any stiller, one could assume he were made of stone. “If you wish for me to teach you, I… can try my best—”

Words were abruptly cut short, tone dying into nothingness as the cold contrast of Dimitri’s flesh was replaced by the warmth of his lips. His head bowed and demeanour chivalrous. Royal etiquette.

He had positioned himself to crouch ever so slightly before the Duscurian, lips resting above scuffed knuckles and eyes half-lidded. Had Dimitri not failed miserably in hiding the raging blush that bloomed across his cheeks, Dedue would have almost believed this was rehearsed and not a spur of the moment action.

Alas, it was clumsy in the slightest of ways. Clearly in the heat of the moment. His knees buckled slightly, and his hands had the faintest of tremors one could not tell existed were they not touching. His lips had gone dry and beads of sweat accompanied the stray strands of hair that now clung to the man’s forehead.

Romance was not a prince forte – diplomacy was.

“This is your payment. A humble request,” Dimitri took a sharp inhale, wheezing out a laugh more awkward than the last. “And a kiss to the hand. What do you say? Do you think I have what it takes?”

Dedue bit his lip tight enough to draw blood – the faint metallic taste grounding him from what he would have otherwise assumed to be a fever dream. “I… yes, you do have what it takes. You would have without the kiss, too.”

And with that, Dimitri released his hand. Although, it remained positioned as where it was once held.

“Fantastic, Dedue. I will look forward to it.” Dimitri smiled, averting eye contact. His cheeks were an angry red, it was almost heartwarming the contrast it had against the blues of his clothes. “Can we… start with bacon and eggs? Or, perhaps, a recipe from Duscur?”

“I would suggest beginning with the basics. Learning how to cut, boil water, so forth.” Dedue folded his arms, trying his best not to imitate the sheepish vibes Dimitri was giving out. “They are the building blocks needed for a good dish.”

“Right. Cutting vegetables. There truly is no shortcut to mastering an art, is there?” Dimitri shuffled past, absentmindedly grabbing a bottle of water in his stride. “I… should give this to Ashe. Maybe we can start our lessons tomorrow? Or even for tonight’s dinner.”

The air hung heavy over them. The water of the kiss was not swept under the bridge, nor did Dedue knew where he stood relationship-wise to his liege. The kiss in itself was a Faerghus tradition, signifying respect… and yet, the body language of Dimitri spoke otherwise.

“Five o’clock. I will meet you by the dining hall,” Dedue bowed before his liege in preparation to take his leave. “I will gather the necessary herbs and spices from the greenhouse in the meantime if you need me.”

As he raised his head, he was met with another – a hard thunk of skulls clunking together, noses smashing each other with grunts of pain in unison. Dimitri surely was concrete-footed in his gestures, even the minor turn of a head carried great weight behind it. Butting heads would be enough to concuss anyone, were they not similar in size and strength.

Dedue felt something wet against his cheek. No, not tears from the pain of the headbutt. Nor was it blood, although, he would be far from surprised if Dimitri had managed to break the skin in one fell swoop.

Was it… spit? Dimitris’ spit?

“Gah, Dedue-!” Dimitri clutched at his lips. “I am so incredibly sorry! You see, Sylvain told me that the best way to go about ‘flirting’ is to surprise them so you don’t get choked up.”

Dedue slowly placed a hand against his cheek, wiping it off as the reality of the situation dawned on him. Flirting? Was this an accidental kiss?

“…So he tutored me last night in exchange for me allowing him to skip a days’ worth of training without me telling the professor. He said the most important rule was to— “ Dimitri froze. “Not tell the… person that you are… flirting with them.”

“You were, um,” Dedue paused. “Flirting with me?”

The air was no longer heavy. It was now stagnant, the only sound in the room being that of their own breathing and the chaos beneath the dining hall doors.

“Well, I… was originally going to place a kiss on your cheek. However, you raised your head before I could position myself correctly, and er…” Dimitri shuffled towards the door. “It appears my time has run out. I truly should deliver this water to Ashe and prepare for our lesson!”

“Right. Okay. Five o’clock, by the dining hall.”

“By the dining hall! Five o’clock!” And with that, Dimitri practically staggered out the door. Dedue could have sworn he saw Sylvain move away from the door as it swung open – had he been listening in? It would not surprise him in the slightest.

Dedue sighed. Perhaps he could take a detour on his way to the greenhouse. Yes, the infirmary would be optimal – just to have a check up on his head. Best to ensure there was no concussion or fractal damage.

…And maybe to ask Manuela a question or two on the weird feeling that has returned to his chest once more.


End file.
